Auror Training
by B.C Daily
Summary: Auror training is not quite what she expected. [AU Lily/James, Smut]


**Author's Notes:** Yummy James/Lily smut with a taste of Divergent flair. #SorryImNotSorry

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**Auror Training**

Auror training is not quite what she expected. There are more classes than curses, and rules that make no sense, like what to wear and what to eat and how much magical power you should be using in the everyday, as if her marmalade on toast or the charm she'd used to plait her hair that morning are going to make the difference between life and death. They're treated like children and yet taught by people not much older than them, a perplexing and often exasperating paradox. She left the confines of school only to enter another one, and she expects she doesn't have a choice but to go along with it if she wants them to respect her enough to make a difference. She doesn't expect that to be so difficult.

But mostly, she doesn't expect to want to fuck her instructor so badly.

"Evans!" His voice cracks like a whip throughout the cavernous training room, making her hair stand on end and her toes curl. Despite the fact that he's only yelled to her and they're meant to be practicing Shield Charms, everyone in the room seems to stop. "What the _hell _was that?"

"A Shield Charm," Lily answers, lifting her chin as he approaches with clipped steps. "You really ought to recognize the spell that you're teaching us—"

"What I _recognize_," Auror Potter says, standing in front of her now, his black robes hugging the slight curves of his muscles as he crosses his arms over his chest, "is a Blicksilver Flood Shield when I see one. Are we studying Blicksilver Flood Shields, Evans?"

_We ought to be_.

"No," Lily mutters.

To her right, one of the other trainees, Gleb Nelson, raises his hand. "What's a Blicksilver Flood Shield?"

"A charm you don't use unless you have control enough to wield it," James answers (this is his name. James. It's what she's started calling him in her head, when she's not kinkily dreaming of shouting "Auror Potter!" out in ecstasy instead), and though he looks at Lily to suggest that her flagrant disregard for the material he's teaching means she lacks this necessary self-control, she's been around him long enough now to know the differences between when he's trying to project something to make a point, and when he truly thinks something else.

He may not want Gleb Nelson trying a Blicksilver, but he knows damn well Lily can.

He knows what she's capable of, and she wants to lick her thanks for it up and down his torso.

The lesson continues from there, fifteen more minutes of basic curses and basic shields and everything just so basic, basic, _basic_ that Lily wants to scream, or cry, or kick something. By the end she is sweating, but not with exertion as some of her fellow trainees are. She's spent the last fifteen minutes absently waving her wand and watching as James walked back and forth along the line of trainees, stopping every so often to instruct someone on a more proper form, or a better way to enunciate. He moves so deliberately, his motions sharp and his assertions precise. He's tall and lanky, all extended limbs and pointed elbows and not at all the type of masculine ideal that some of her mates have pinned up on their walls to gawk at or diddle themselves to late at night. But there was something about Auror James Potter that got Lily overheated with a mere look. Something about the way he moved and the way he talked and the way his dark hair appeared as if he'd just crawled out of bed every second of every day, that instantly put her mind in the gutter. It was probably a good thing her lessons were so basic—anything more complicated, and she'd probably accidently take someone's eye out.

_He's not that much older than you_, she likes to remind herself, when the daydreaming gets out of control. She'd known him in school, actually—or rather, known him as well as any witch several years younger but still in the same house _could_ know such a bloke. He'd been the life of the party then, always smiling and joking and winking at teachers and students alike. He was harder now, but deliciously so, and Lily reckoned she could sometimes see wisps of that boy who'd laughed so easily and flirted so readily when she says something particularly impertinent or clever. It's in those moments when she likes to imagine him naked best.

(Though truthfully, she just rather enjoys imagining him naked, period.)

He calls the session to a close, and Lily sighs in relief. Grabbing her things from one of the hooks on the wall, she's slinging her bag over her shoulder when she hears him call out her name.

"Evans. Stay back for a moment, would you?"

She turns, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow as the rest of the class quickly files out of the training room. She refuses to move to him, so he comes to her instead. As the door closes behind the last of the trainees, James reaches her side, and they're alone.

"Want me to teach you a Blicksilver, Auror Potter?" she asks.

"I know this is frustrating for you," he replies, adjusting the thick-rimmed glasses that perch on his nose. "I've seen your entrance exam results. They probably should've pushed you out of first-year training, but they haven't done, so you've got to make the best of it. But I've been in your shoes and I understand how you feel."

"You haven't been in my _anything_," Lily says, and watches carefully to see if he responds at all to that. He doesn't, but probably wouldn't anyway, and _that's _more frustrating than anything else. "I was shocked to see that we actually moved past _The_ _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ today. Now on to the thrilling complexities of _Grade 5,_ eh? Don't push us too hard, Auror Potter. We're just trainees, you know."

His lips twitch. "The basics are important. It's not all meant to be glamourous."

"I'm not looking for glamour. Just not to be put to sleep."

"I'm putting you to sleep?"

"In class? Yes. But never fear—you keep me up most nights."

This time, he _does_ flinch, and Lily might've cheered if she didn't have to resort to bashing him over the head with her blatant innuendos to achieve it. It's a poor decision all around to be teasing him like this. At best, he'll roll his eyes and send her off, after which they'd go on pretending it meant nothing. At worst, he'd tell her off for attempting to fraternize with her instructor, possibly jeopardizing her spot in the academy because if they bloody well had rules about what kind of socks she could wear on Tuesdays, you bet your arse they probably had a rule about shagging your instructor within academy walls. She might be restless, but Lily couldn't afford to be thrown out.

And yet...

She takes a step closer, reducing the already petty distance between them until there's nearly none. He doesn't move back; doesn't move at all, really. She can feel the heat radiating off him, the warmth of his skin that seems to filter in through his clothes and straight into her veins, like a molten shot of adrenaline. She's had naughty dreams that have begun just this way, with his body next to hers and an expectancy hanging in the air. She glances up to find him staring down at her, his hazel eyes bright behind the lenses of his specs and his jaw locked tight. When he speaks, his voice is low.

"Lily," he says. He never calls her that.

"What?"

"This is...not smart."

"What's not?" But even as she asks it, she does as she's longed to do since she first saw him walk into the training room two months earlier—lifts her fingers to gently stroke a careful line down the center of his chest. His heart thumps against her fingertips, and his Adam's apple bobs skittishly in his throat.

"I'm your instructor," he says, but seems to be reminding himself more than her, which sends her pulse racing. Her breath is catching, but she tries to scoff anyway.

"Barely," is what she manages, and then pushes out some more. "I mean, it's really only a matter of semantics. How much older are you than me, anyway? A few insignificant years—"

"Three years, nine months, and three days."

Lily's entire body freezes.

"W-what?"

"I'm three years, nine months and three days older than you," he repeats, shifting closer. "Approximately."

Her voice goes hoarse. "Looked into that a bit, have you?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Almost stalkerish, really."

"Seemed relevant to know."

"Did it?" And now her heart is beating so fast, so bloody _fast_, she can hear it in her ears. Did she move closer, or did he? She doesn't know, only that there's no space between them now, their bodies are flush against one another, and the hand Lily had resting on his chest is now crushed between them, curled in the cool cloth of his black robes, which she fists harder, tighter, until she's got enough leverage to pull him down...except it doesn't take much leverage at all because his head is lowering too, down, _down_...

And then he's kissing her.

"_Fuck_," he hisses immediately, trying to pull away, but Lily doesn't let him. She yanks down hard on the cloth still caught in her fingertips until with little reluctance his mouth is on hers again, and this time, no one's retreating. He tastes so much better than she thought he would, imagined he would, and as his fingers weave in through her hair and he tugs her closer, Lily can't think, can't breathe. His lips move over hers with a kind of desperation she might have found sloppy if she weren't feeling it so readily herself, so she links her arms around his neck and clings for dear life.

Then she's off her feet, thrust up against a wall.

"_Fuck_," he breathes again, but this time his mouth only lifts long enough to get the word out, the barest of moments for her to catch her breath before he's swooping in again and his tongue begins to do wicked things to hers. Her back chafes against the cement with the intensity of his kisses, but Lily sees no reason to complain. In fact, she encourages it, meeting every swipe of his tongue with one of her own, then nibbling teasingly on his lower lip when he refuses to play.

"We shouldn't be doing this. It's complete madness," he says, his hands drifting out of her hair and down her body. His long fingers leave a trail of fire that seems to burn through her clothes. "Complete fucking _madness_."

"Shut up," she says, tugging his lips back to hers, swallowing his words with her mouth. "It's not madness. It's...it's three years and five months and—what was it?"

"Three years, nine months, and three days," James repeats, like a prayer, like a mantra. He latches onto her neck and begins to suck.

Lily laughs, then groans. "Dear Merlin, do I even want to know how many times you've calculated that in order to have it memorized?"

James lifts his head until his eyes meet hers. His specs now sit slightly askew and his hair sticks up from where her fingers have ravaged it. But his expression is serious, solemn, even while he's red and panting, and when he speaks, his breath fans cool against her skin.

"Every bloody fucking day since I first met you," he tells her, the words hitting her like a punch in the gut. "Every single bloody _day_."

She wants to shout, to cheer.

"But you never...I never realized..."

"You weren't meant to."

"You really have kept me up at night, you know," she whispers, moving her hands until her fingers can cup his face, move across his skin, tracing every bit of him from the arch of his dark eyebrows to the cleft of his narrow chin. "Really, really long nights."

His eyes flash. "Good."

Then he's kissing her again.

The clothes come off quickly after that, peeling like unwanted layers off a succulent fruit that neither one of them can wait to devour. His robes go first, then her shirt. He groans at the sight of her rounded breasts curving above the edges of a lacy black bra, his mouth following the newly revealed patches of her skin until he's lavishing sucks and kisses against the lacy edges of the fabric. Then, when that proves not enough, he nudges the flimsy material aside with his mouth and takes one nipple between his teeth. This time, it's Lily's turn to moan.

"_James_."

It's the first time she's called him that outside of her head, and judging by the teasing bite he gives her, she reckons he likes it. But much as she enjoys the attention his lips are giving her and the way one of his hands has come up to tease her other breast while the other is busy in his mouth, there are still too many layers between them and she can't stand it much longer. The bra is fun, but in the way, so she doffs it quickly before reaching out for the hem of his shirt. The collar gets caught as it's coming up around his neck and his specs get tangled up in the cloth, but after an impatient moment, he helps her remove them both, dropping the shirt into the ever-increasing pile of clothes about the floor and tossing his specs carelessly down on top of them, which Lily takes a moment to hope aren't crushed in the midst of the action. But then they're together, skin to skin for the first time, and Lily can't think of much of anything anymore

James lifts her up.

"Put your legs around me," he says.

She does so immediately, hooking her ankles as they snake around his hips, finally allowing her to feel the heavy bulge of his cock, hard and scorching, against her thighs. Instinctively, she grinds against him, and they both groan. She does it again, but then he's pushing her back against the wall, and his mouth continues to mount the attack it had started before. With her bra out of the way, the endeavour proves easier, and Lily murmurs incoherently as he scatters nips and wet nudges against her sensitive tits. But there's only so much of that she can take.

"Kiss me," she tells him, and though he seems reluctant to move his mouth, he does trail it upward, leaving a wet path of kisses up her chest, over her neck, until he finally reaches her mouth again. The kisses now are harder, more urgent, and Lily wriggles her hand between them until she finds the fastenings of his trousers. She can feel him there, over the cloth, and as her fingers jimmy with the button and the zipper, they're both left moaning. One of his hands is cupping her arse, keeping her propped against him, so she unhooks her ankles only long enough to scrape the trousers down with her wayward hand and prodding feet. He moves to help, and then his trousers and pants are about his ankles, and his cock springs free. Her fingers immediately encircle it.

"Oh, hell," he hisses, jamming her hard into the wall as her fingers begin to move in a jerky rhythm. He's long and thick, and Lily huffs heavily against his shoulder as she thinks about what he'll feel like inside of her. The hand cupping her arse squeezes harder while the other moves from her breast to pound a gasping fist against the wall next to her head. Lily bites her smile into his skin as his hips twitch with her clumsy fondles.

"Harder," he tells her, and she follows his pleas, gripping him more firmly in her hand. He only lets her get in a few decent strokes until he's pushing her hands away, though, but Lily doesn't mind the interrupted fun—not when he's got his hands on _her _now.

"Get these off," he says, fumbling urgently with the waist of her dark shorts. The elastic that keeps them up clings to her hips and his bungling fingers cannot quite manage it.

"Rip them," she orders, and the moment the words are out of her mouth, his eyes flash to hers and she sees it there—the surprise, the thrill. She laughs breathlessly. "Thought of doing that before, have you?"

"A thousand or so times," he says, and while Lily laughs at the absurd number, clearly he's thought about it at least often enough to know where to tear. The hand on her arse shifts slightly, joining the other only long enough to grab the fabric bunched up between her thighs and swiftly wrench it.

If Lily's knickers hadn't already been positively sopping, that would've done it.

"Oh _god_," she cries out as his fingers immediately find her, shoving the skimpy swatch of her knickers aside and delving straight into the wetness there. She whimpers as he groans, and she feels her legs begin to tremble as he deftly runs his fingers up and down her pussy, not plunging inside, but simply roughly slipping a molten trail from her small thatch of dark hair to where she's positively _creaming _herself for him, wet and wanting and _oh god please she needs him inside her_. She must say it, beg it, plead the words against his skin, but he continues to tease her, rubbing and stroking until she can't take it any longer. With a growl of frustration, she jams one of her hands between them and impatiently thrusts his hand with hers until his fingers are finally sheathed within her.

She cries out in relief, and he laughs as he groans.

"No _patience_," he mutters.

"Fuck me," she tells him. "Merlin above, shut up and just _fuck _me."

His fingers begin to do so, pumping and flicking in the most _divine_, wonderful, amazing—oh Merlin, but it's not enough. It feels so good and yet it's not _nearly_ enough and they both damn well know it, so Lily twists her hand that still rests between them until she finds his cock, scorching and waiting, and begins to guide it where it's needed.

He's at her entrance—oh there there _there_—but before he moves in, he stops, waits.

"Lily." His eyes blaze into hers. His expression is hard, pained. "Are you sure—"

She smashes her mouth to his, cuts off the stupid question, then thrusts her hips down until finally—_finally_—he's inside her.

He's moving before she even has to ask.

"James!"

His strokes are sharp and frantic, hitting her in a way that causes her head to spin and her nerves to immediately set spark. She clutches his neck and sinks her fingernails into his skin as the jolts hit her, one for each rapid stroke, and their matching moans play a symphony in the quiet room. His hand is still between them, gently rubbing at her clit as his cock slides in and out, an overwhelming mixture too heady for Lily to handle. His breath hits her skin in ragged huffs, and she drags his lips back down to hers to catch them with her mouth. It's not elegant, nor gentle, and Lily can feel the friction of the movements created between the wall and her skin with every steady pump, but the pain feels good, feels right, and balances out the devastating pressure building elsewhere, too soon and too fast. She wants his mouth back on her tits, so at his next stroke upward, she hitches herself higher and guides his head where she wants it to go. He readily follows her lead, latching onto one breast and serving up a perfect suction before switching to the other.

"Faster," she hisses, though she doesn't know if he can go faster, doesn't even know what she's asking for really, except that she can already feel the pressure mounting inside her and _Merlin_, this is too much. It's all too, too much. "Yes, yes, _yes_. There!"

"Hold on," he says, then dips lower, changing the angle slightly until—_ah_. Oh hell. Hell, hell, _hell_. She's definitely about to come now.

The spasms begin as his pumps grow more desperate, and she clings to his body as the whimpers escape. Again and again, his cock strikes her, and the feeling is like nothing she's ever felt before. They are scorching and sweaty and so utterly out of breath that when the waves begin to hit her, small at first, then building more and more until there's a crash and an explosion and the stars flash before her eyes and the heavens sing and maybe she yells or simply just means to, she doesn't know and doesn't care and he doesn't stop. He keeps going, riding out her orgasm and then the afterwaves of her tremors, until a dozen or so strokes later, he's there too, and he jerks himself into her as he comes, hard and fast with a groan.

Afterward, they pant together, recover slowly, still tangled and reeling, neither moving more than what it takes to claim the next gulping breath. Maybe it's thirty seconds, or maybe it's thirteen-hundred, but eventually, Lily regains the strength to drop her head back until its lolling against the hard wall and his gaze finally meets hers.

"Well," she says. "That was certainly an interesting lesson."

"I do my best," he tells her, utterly deadpan. "Can't have my trainees getting bored."

She doesn't know who begins to laugh first, him or her. She feels it before she hears it, the sensation welling up inside of her and the look in his eyes and the complete madness of it all and she's still clinging to him when it _does _finally come out—big, helpless laughter that neither one of them can contain, not until they muffle it against each other's mouths, and even then it doesn't stop, never stops.

They are fucked—so very, very _fucked_—but truthfully? Lily can't bring herself to care.


End file.
